The Last Hour
by Rozewater
Summary: He was the boy who'd wink, smile sweetly, and ask for a drink. She was the girl that would mix it up and hand it over the counter. Yet she dreamed of so much more, little aware of the smokescreen her life contained. Oneshot. -OLD-


Jack would always come back.

That was one of the things Eve had always loved about him. That he would float around the bar with that airy, simple smile of his, leave when the clock struck ten, but be promptly back at eight the next evening. Every day. On the hour. Always there. Putting in his order for a grape soda.

It was sort of like a rhythm. And it was a wonderful, predictable thing. It was just so loveably convenient.

Wait…that's not what she meant. It wasn't about being convenient. She loved him for more than just being around and accessible during her working hours. It was just always so nice how she could rely on the young farmer to be there, right at hand, always as scheduled. And when he would lean over across the bar counter and ask for a drink with a boyish grin…well, she almost felt like he came every night for her.

Eve knew it was foolish to think as such though. She had never really properly spoken to Jack outside of the Moonlight Café. They were merely acquaintances and nothing more. She was a barmaid who worked hard for her much needed money. He was a farmer who wanted to relax after a hard day's work. Thus they happened to run into each other each day for two hours on a weekly basis. Nothing but two paths crossing and two lives zooming by.

But he did come every night. Always when she was on shift. And he didn't smile and joke with the other customers nearly as much as when it was just Uncle Duke manning the place. But other than that, he was just another man with more worries to drown. Eve had to admit, Jack was quite fond of ordering one shot more than he probably should. But when he would wink at Eve and casually drawl out his order, how was the young lass supposed to say no?

It was a strange phenomenon, really. Eve knew herself to be prettier than the average girl and was used to men trying to sweet talk their way to a free meal. And often times the plea was for more than just refreshments. But when Jack would waltz by and continue with his nightly routine, she found herself watching his every move. Every step. Keeping an eye on every conversation he engaged in. She would watch the body language of the guys he chatted with and grit her teeth when he gave a flirty wave to any female passing by.

And it was always in those moments that she knew it. Eve knew it far too well. The truth. But what was she to do? She knew she spent every waking hour longing for the sun to set and the crickets to chirp. She nearly shook with excitement when the moonshine fell down on the lazy, grassy fields of Flower Bud Village. She knew that was when Jack's arrival was close at hand and that he would soon come prancing though the door.

And oh, how she knew she considered Jack all but hers in her mind. But no, by title they were never boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn't like the idea of being labeled again; she had gone though so many unfortunate relationships that the idea didn't look nearly as appealing anymore. All she had was merely a schoolgirl-ish crush. But she harbored a special, odd, doting affection for the boy. Perhaps it was because it was the first time in so long it wasn't just a wandering, careless vagabond that would always come to get his drinks from her. It was a man with a prideful and true occupation. A man of the earth. And even though it echoed distantly in the back of her mind that one's job reflected nothing on their personality, she still dreamt of the farmer every night.

Eve wasn't sure what she should do though, really. She was in a misty, no-man's land as far as Jack and any possible relationship was concerned. Yes, she could ask the young man out. She was all but sure he would say yes. She knew she could be drop dead gorgeous if she really put her mind to it. No single man could refuse her when she was determined to get what she wanted. But there was an akward unease that seemed to fill her when she thought about entering "couplehood" with Jack. A feeling that always brought to mind the image of him waving charmingly to those other ladies. She didn't know why, but the drive to take the next step with him just wasn't there.

It wasn't until later that she realized that what her waiting would show. A devistating truth.

It was the horse girl. The one with the spiky blonde pony tail, jean jacket, and white tank showing off all that stomach. The denim skirt and the elbow high, black gloves. A clever smirk but a joyful laugh. She was a rough and tough girl yet she always had a distinctive femininity about her. Eve wasn't sure how she did it, but she could understand why so many men fell for Gwen.

It was funny. Her and Gwen were probably the two most sought after women in the Village, yet they were complete opposites.

Either way, Eve could still remember the infamous night. The Night. And yes, it deserved capitals. It had been in the Moonlight of course. Duke had been gone getting supplies in the next town over and wasn't due back for two more hours. She had been simply cleaning a dirtied glass of soda behind the counter when she heard the squeak of the front door. It was Jack, tromping though the doorway with a sharp look in his eye. His gaze was darting side to side with an air of paranoia. What was the matter? Was he hiding from something? Was something after him? Something was obviously different. Eve was just about to ask when her answer came for her. For though the doorway, right behind her secret dearie, came the blonde cowgirl. Gwen was stumbling along, and gave a loud hiccup as the she closed the door behind them with trembling arms.

Eve's eyes automatically darted to the clock, as they always did when Jack arrived. But this time the clock didn't repeat the familiar hour. It was only seven at night. An hour early. What was going on here? She decided to scoot over a bit and conceal herself behind a shelf of wine. Though a gap in the bottles, she spied upon the couple. She wanted to knew what was the "occasion" was.

She gazed upon the two, suddenly weary with worry. What was wrong with Jack? And why was he with that girl? She had to bite her lip when the farmer boy roughly turned around and grabbed Gwen's fidgeting hand. He yanked her over to his side. Gwen nearly toppled from the force, only managing to keep to her feet since she all but collided with Jack's chest. Bouncing off the well muscled young man, she gave a…dizzy sounding giggle. Like one a person would give after they'd spun in circles for many minutes and felt giddy but sick to their stomach. Eve felt her hand tighten around her towel and glass. There was no way she could ignore the two. The place was empty for all but the three of them. And the damned giggle echoed with a hauntingly teasing manner.

As Gwen tottered around some more between random tables, giggling and muttering something in a low, slurred tone that Eve could not understand, the barmaid felt her breath catch. Jack had just stomped up to the obviously intoxicated lass, swooped down over her, and backed her up into a corner. With a heavy thud that sound dangerously strong, Eve heard what must have been Gwen's head slamming against the wall.

Eve gasped deeply in shock. Her eyes widened into large, petrified orbs as she hid in the shadows.

A sharp cry escaped the drunken girl's lips, before it was hastily silenced. Jack's mouth was quickly on Gwen's, and the farmer's hands doing things that they shouldn't have been doing to someone in his partner's condition…

A near scream tried to shove its way up her throat, but she forced it back down. No! He couldn't be doing that! This wasn't her Jack! He must be wasted himself! But Jack's assured grip and steady movements proved to Eve that he wasn't under the influence. This Jack was fully conscious of his actions. And it was all happening so fast.

To this day, Eve can't really remember what she shouted. Something accusing and demanding. But what she did remember was that her voice rang true as she came out from behind the shelf and commanded an end to the horrendous act that was going on before her. She remembered how Jack had leaped back from Gwen as if receiving a shock, turning his gaze to this new disruption. How he had carelessly tossed his victim to the floor, the helpless girl plummeting down fast and hard. How he had seemed to cross the room in but five steps and vault over the counter. Eve let out a screech of her own, shrill and terrified, but a hand around her throat had made her go quiet. She struggled, franticly clawing at the white knuckles that bound her. But Jack held his grip firm.

"Nothing happened here," he whispered in her ear. Spit flew from his mouth. His voice broke in either panic or anger, Eve wasn't sure. "Nothing happened. And if you tell anyone what almost did, the same will happen to you." Her vision was going blurry. Her lungs were screaming for oxygen. "I can't let this ruin my reputation," he continued and the pitch of his voice seemed to rise. "This was all just a mistake! Gwen has no one to blame but herself!" When he finally released her, she felt her body slump to the floor as if she contained not one bone in her body. She shook, near convulsed, as her beloved boy jumped over the counter once more, darted for the door, and exited at a sprint. The door slammed and he was gone.

A moment of deathly silence filled the room. It buzzed maddeningly and seemed to fill her senses. She was on the floor. The wood that paved the ground filled her vision with brown. The color of shit. The grit of dirt from passing feet dug into her arm and cheek. Dirt that began to float a bit when a puddle of tears started to form under where they dripped from her eyes.

And there she stayed. For the longest time.

Two hours later, Duke came back. Two hours later, Eve had composed herself and waited patiently behind the counter with a chillingly unnatural calm about her. Two hours later, Eve lied that Gwen had just gotten drunk of her own accord, had passed out, and hit a table on the way down.

But it was four hours later, alone in her bedroom while she attempted to sleep and nightmares plagued her, that Eve knew that eight o' clock was no longer the magic hour. That no longer would she pray she was lucky enough to get a wink when she handed over a drink to her once loved. That the Jack and the emotions he represented to her were never returning.

Jack would never come back.


End file.
